Some Days, You're the Hydrant
by Thesaurusgirl
Summary: Colby has a memorable week, some of it very good, but most of it just painful


**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Numb3rs or any of the characters. This is the first follow-up to This Could Be The Start of Something. To those who feel that story ended abruptly, that was intentional. I think some things are better left to the imagination. Colby is about to hit a rough patch. Let the whumping begin. And aren't we all such sick puppies for enjoying it so much.**

Some Days, You're the Hydrant

Colby awoke and stretched languidly, slowly reorienting himself in the silent darkness of his bedroom. He remembered the slumbering woman lying in his arms and smiled. Kerri's long hair spread out in an ebony silken ribbon across his chest, partially covering her face. One arm hugged him and one bare leg was thrown over his. She'd draped herself over him, an erotic

blanket.

He was still slightly amazed by the events of the last few hours. It wasn't exactly every day that a beautiful woman, one whom Colby had every reason to believe loathed him, showed up at his home, especially given the wardrobe she'd chosen.

After their acutely discomfiting meeting earlier that night at Charlie Eppes's house over dinner, he'd been looking forward to seeing as little as possible

of her in the future. He raised his head slightly. What he had seen of her tonight, and could see of her at the moment, caused a sharp intake of breath. They had very definitely resolved their differences. Several times, in fact. Spectacularly. He reached over with his free hand to brush the hair from her eyes with a feather light touch. A finger traced her cheek from ear to mouth. He hadn't intended to wake her, but did. Her jade gaze, reflected in his own, rested softly on him.

Kerri raised her head to look down at him, then moved her body, removing her arm and leg from their resting places. Colby didn't have time to regret their absence. With an impish grin, she sat up and swung around until she straddled his stomach, her hips resting just above his. With a mind maddening slowness, she arched herself downward, meeting his lips gently at first, then with more urgent demand. Her tongue darted in, mingling in a hungry kiss, her hands cupping his face. Colby reached up, hands running over the satin curves of her form. His muscled arms suddenly tightened around her, and he shifted, lifting himself and her and turning until their positions were reversed. His eyes fixed her with an aroused intensity as his knee parted her legs wider. They moaned together as he filled her, feeling her long slender legs wrap about him. What remained of the night dissolved into a blur of sensual exploration.

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Surprisingly, he was first into the office the next morning, beating out even his early bird boss, the workaholic Don Eppes. Even more unusual, as the first agent in, Colby earned the privilege of making the initial pot of coffee, a task his boss and teammates generally tried hard to keep out of his hands. Granger trusted Don, David and Nikki with his life on a daily basis without reservation. The four of them were a crack team and almost always operated like a well-oiled machine, especially lately. Privately though, Colby thought their idea of a good cup of coffee was, to put it charitably, well, wimpy. To Colby, a proper cup of java should be strong enough to reach up out of the pot, grab a man by the throat, and make him say _please_ first. He sipped, and nodded with approval. This pot was so angry he could almost hear it snarl. Yeah, good. After last night, he needed that. " Better not think about last night too much," he decided. No time for a cold shower.

He poured a full cup and pushed his way out of the break room, headed for his desk. Before he made it all the way, the elevator doors opened and out stepped Don, who, head buried in the overnights, collided with him, nearly knocking the scalding cup of perfect brew out of Granger's hand.

"Ooof, sorry Colby" Eppes said absently. Whatever was in those overnight reports had really grabbed the senior agent's attention. Colby said so, hoping to prod Don into sharing the contents. It worked. He handed Colby a copy of the report he was reading.

"Vance Allard" Don said, indicating the booking photo included on the page. Granger studied the picture. Stringy dirty blond hair framed the face of a scruffy vicious looking felon. Cold, heavy- lidded eyes stared back at him. Accompanying the report and image was Allard's lengthy rap sheet. A career criminal, Allard showed a considerable proficiency at achieving monetary gain by violent, very violent, means. Colby got the feeling causing other people pain was something Allard enjoyed, a lot. Oddly, his jacket also included an estimation by a prison psychiatrist that the man's IQ was well above the average.

"David and Nikki are both on the way in. Briefing as soon as everybody arrives" Don continued tersely. "I need a cup of coffee" He yawned.

'Just made a fresh pot" Colby answered brightly, hiding his amusement at the way Don's face took on a slightly greenish tint at the comment.

"Uh, no thanks, Colby. I, um, I think I'd rather make my own." Don said, making his escape.

David Sinclair and Nikki Bentancourt showed up soon after and Don filled the team in on Vance Allard and his equally ruthless robbery crew.

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"Agent Granger ! Open your eyes! I need you to keep your eyes open for me, okay?" the unfamiliar voice in his ear was demanding. Almost demanding enough to tear Colby's attention from the pain he was in. The paramedic was trying urgently to pry his patient's hands away from his injured vision so the agent could be treated.

Very gradually, logic fought thru the fog of agony and Colby was guided to the rear of the ambulance, where the medic irrigated his eyes and the skin around them with cold water, holding Granger's eyes open with one hand and washing with the other, while the other tech worked on the multiple dog bites.

What was supposed to be a routine interview with one of Allard's associates had turned into anything but. The man they were coming to see, Sammy Cole was a petty thief, liar, con artist and general all around dreg of society, but wasn't thought to be dangerous. And he hadn't been. Sammy's mother, however, was a different story. Delighted to have her son returned to the bosom of his family after his recent stint as a guest of the county, seeing FBI agents arriving to cause what looked like trouble for her baby sent her motherly instincts into overdrive. Before the pair of agents could even get around to actually speaking to Cole, they'd been set upon by the family's dogs. A snarling, spitting mass of mongrel fur and teeth, the animals zealously attempted to bite any part of Granger or Sinclair they could reach.

Closer to the vehicle than the house, David was able to scramble onto the roof of the Charger, angry pooch grabbing for his leg and getting cloth but just grazing the flesh. Unfortunately, Colby had too much distance between himself and their vehicle. Two of the four mangy mutts managed to hit the mark, nipping the former Ranger's arms and legs in several places. David, coming to his partner's aid, drew his weapon and fired a shot into the air, startling the four legged attackers into scattering long enough for Colby to make it into the car. The old lady came marching out behind her "protectors", determined to drive the FBI away from her door. Cackling with happiness at the result of her efforts, she sailed forth in full regalia, floral print house dress and battered slippers flapping.

Sinclair had had enough. Aiming his gun at one of the dogs who was bunching it's muscles for a leap onto the hood of the car, he yelled at the woman. "Lady, call 'em off! Call 'em off now, or start losing 'em! I mean it! Now!" he repeated angrily. He cocked the gun, preparing to fire.

That sobered the gleeful septuagenarian up fast. She quickly called her pets back to her side, then hurried them off to a fenced-in portion of the property, casting glances back over her shoulder as if she feared David would pursue her and shoot the animals anyway.

Climbing down from the roof of the car, David saw Colby emerge and they started for the house.

"You okay?" David asked.

"Yeah, just embarrassed. Hurts, you know?" Colby was able to chuckle a little about it. He hadn't been bitten by a dog since Amos Campbell's Australian shepherd had taken a chunk out of him when he was sixteen and sneaking on to the property to see Chloe, the old man's granddaughter. These bites were painful but not severe.

Once inside, trailed by the elderly homeowner, they looked around but did not see her son.

"Sam Cole! FBI! We want to talk to you. Don't make us look for you!" Granger was irritated. Both partners had guns drawn now. Limping a little from the bites, he and Sinclair spread out to cover the few rooms of the miniscule dwelling. Sammy'd clearly decided talking to the FBI was not on his agenda for today and was doing a pretty good job of hiding.

Easing his way down a dim hall and around a corner, Colby found himself in a tiny room piled high with a variety of mostly junk. Boxes overflowed with papers, clothes and other items. Keeping his back to the wall, gun drawn, he reached forward with one hand to pull the curtain back on a narrow closet in one corner of the room. Nothing. The room had two openings. He could see the kitchen thru the other doorway. Heading in that direction, he quickly saw that room was empty also. Granger headed for the only space left to search, the basement. He inched down the narrow wooden steps into the darkness, no time to note the dank smell. He could see a door on the far wall, the top half containing paned glass. It was partly open. He started for it, trying to sweep the rest of the room. Halfway there, he registered movement out of the corner of one eye. Pivoting, he saw shelves filled with paint cans, rollers, household cleaners and more of the home's clutter rushing towards him, pushed over by Sammy Cole. There was no time to get out of the way, so he tried to shield himself, throwing up his arms to cover his head. The shelving slammed into him, showering him with its contents. Colby's gun flew from his hand as he was bombarded. He was mostly successful at protecting himself, but was hit in the face by a caustic liquid that immediately began to burn his skin. He'd instinctively closed his eyes, so they were spared the brunt of the spill but not entirely. Colby forgot all about Sammy Cole to deal with the pain of the chemical burn.

Sammy, meanwhile, looked upon the FBI agent's indisposition as an opportunity to escape and made a headlong rush for the stairs. His bid for freedom was abruptly cancelled by crashing smack into Sinclair, who was on his way down, summoned by the commotion. In a blink, the African-American agent took in Sammy coming at him, and his partner lying nearly prone on the hard packed dirt floor of the basement, visibly and audibly suffering. David handcuffed Cole to some piping and rushed to help Colby. Surveying the damage, he phone for paramedics and backup, doing what he could until help arrived.

Now, David stood near where the medical personnel were doing their thing, having seen Sammy, who kept loudly insisting he was only trying to get out of his hiding place, he hadn't _meant_ to push the shelves over for crying out loud, off to federal lockup. With somewhat guilty relish, Sinclair summoned animal control to deal with Mama Cole and her pack, which explained her anxious wailing in the background. He turned his back on that scene to pay attention to Colby, who, injuries being attended to, was stubbornly refusing further medical attention. Not even David's usually formidable language skills could change his mind. Sinclair ground his teeth in frustration, and with Granger gamely insisting he felt a lot better, they headed back in.

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Coming back from interviewing a former girlfriend of Allard's, Don was encamped in the briefing room, reviewing what they knew of the man. He and Nikki spent two hours trying to coax info from the woman only to discover her chief emotion concerning her one-time lover was fear. Finding out he was back in Los Angeles had driven her underground. Angie Taylor was an attractive blond whose ordinary existence took a massive shot of adrenaline when Vance Allard stepped into it. She discovered, though, that having the attention of a man like Allard had it's downside. Vance's bad boy charm soured fast once it dawned on Angie that he felt the same way about her that he did about any of his other possessions. Trouble was, with Vance, getting out was a lot harder that getting in. When his problems with the law forced him out of LA, Angie started to believe she could breathe again. Now he was back. And looking for her, according to her parents and friends. The thought filled her with terror. She only wanted Don and Nikki to go away, so she could disappear again. They did.

Now, back at the office, Eppes was trying to decide which direction to go in. Maybe he could pick Charlie's brain. Get some kind of math inspired angle to follow up on. Still turning alternatives over in his head, he absently noted Colby and David's return, but for the moment, did not look up from whatever he was studying. When he did, his mouth dropped open in surprise.

Walking up to get a closer look at Granger, Don couldn't help but wince in sympathy. Colby's normally healthy looking complexion was the color of rhubarb, especially around the eyes. As for them, the usually verdant orbs wore an aggrieved look, as if they were offended at being asked to continue working at the moment. Bloodshot didn't begin to describe them.

"David told me what happened" he said, "but, wow…Colby, how does that feel? Don asked, making a slow circuit around the other man.

"I'm okay, Don. I mean it's kinda uncomfortable, but I'll live" Granger insisted. The stares he was drawing from around the office belied the statement.

Nikki chose that moment to put in an appearance. Stopping short at the sight of her teammate, it was her turn to wince. "Ouch. What did they use on you, a blowtorch?"

"I said, I'm okay. The medics gave me some ointment to rub on my skin and said I should keep washing my eyes out. I'll be fine. Just need to get back to work is all" Colby doggedly maintained.

"What he's leaving out is that they also advised him that it would be a good idea for him to rest his eyes somewhere dark and quiet. And to see an optometrist right away" David chimed in from his own desk. He ignored the look of betrayal Granger shot him.

"Yeah, and why am I not surprised you chose to ignore that advice, Agent Granger?" The team leader asked. "Ok, I'm making an executive decision here. Get your butt out of my bull-pen" He continued on, riding roughshod over Colby's attempts to object. "Go. Home. Now. Go directly home. Do not pass go and do not collect two hundred dollars. Got it? I mean it, Colby. Leave. Now. And I don't want to see you back here until you look a whole lot better than you do now, and have a doctor's clearance, understood?"

"But…" Colby started to say more.

Nikki prevented any further comment. "The boss is right, Granger" she said. " You should definitely go home. You look like a raccoon with anger management issues."

Colby gave up. "Alright, I'm going, I'm going. Before one of you decides I need to be tucked in." Turning, he smiled suddenly, painful though it was. He'd just thought of someone he'd much more prefer to be tucked in by, making the choice to try and call her. Maybe, he considered, Kerri Walton could be persuaded to provide just the right amount of TLC.

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As it happened, calling Kerri turned out to be both a good and a bad idea. When he reached someone in the DA's office, Colby was informed that Ms. Walton was currently in court and unavailable, so he left a message.

She called him back three hours later. "Hi, I'm glad to hear from you, but I didn't expect it to be so soon." Her voice had a velvet quality over the phone.

He brought her up to speed on the mornings events. Immediately concerned, she told Colby she was on her way over and broke the connection. He smirked. Maybe some good could come out of this mess after all. Arching his eyebrows twice, he was rather pleased with the outcome of his little phone call.

A lot less satisfied two hours later, he lay on an ER gurney, trying to fathom how things had gotten away from him. This was _not_ the bed he'd been planning to spend his afternoon in. Arriving at his apartment, Kerri took one look at his wounded face and eyes and bundled him off to the emergency room, totally ignoring all his protestations that it was unnecessary. In very short order, Granger was hooked up to an IV, had vitals taken and blood drawn and been examined by a burn specialist, dermatologist and eye doctor. Apparently, being an FBI agent and being brought in by an assistant prosecutor had advantages. He reluctantly admitted he did feel better, especially his peepers. Whatever solution the docs put in them eased the discomfort considerably. The only thing was, they'd bandaged his eyes to keep them closed. Since he couldn't see anything, he listened extra hard, trying to eavesdrop on the conversation going on just outside his cubicle.

"So, he can go home? It won't be necessary to admit him?" Kerri was asking the doctor.

"No, no, we won't need to keep him overnight. But, he needs to keep those bandages on his eyes. And he needs to rest. As much as Agent Granger tries to deny it, his body's been thru a trauma. It needs a chance to bounce back. He should go home, climb into bed and stay there for the next six to eight hours minimum." The doctor replied firmly. "If you can guarantee that, I will go notify the desk and get his discharge paperwork started." The man started down the hall, shaking his head at the myriad reasons people ended up in his ER.

She pushed open the door and came in. "Ok, you can stop pretending you didn't hear that and sit up now. I'll help you get dressed." He could hear the smile in her voice.

"I'd rather let you help me get undressed" he responded in as lascivious a tone as he could manage.

She chuckled, a throaty sound, filling the room. "Down boy. There'll be plenty of time for that later. Besides, you look like you just lost a smackdown with the big red guy from that movie. Come on, let's go. We need to get you home and I need to get back to court. Judge declared a recess, but it's almost over." She helped him get signed out, then steered him out of the hospital and to her car.

All of his considerable powers of persuasion could not her talk into staying once he was home, but before leaving him comfortably ensconced in bed, full of hot soup and pain meds, she'd promised to return later. With no choice, Colby'd settled for that and faded off to sleep as Kerri closed the door behind her.

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The heavily armed LAPD strike team lined up on either side of the narrow corridor, poised to execute their warrant as swiftly as possible. From experience, the cops knew that the less time they could give their targets to react, the better for everyone. Go in hard, fast and loud. They needed to keep Solano and his cohorts as off balance as possible.

The main man they were here for, a leader of one of LA's ruthless street gangs, which saw a healthy amount of profit from sales of crack, meth and heroin, lived in the apartment they were about to enter. Evidently, he believed moving away from the group's territory helped lower his profile with the police. A combined gang-narcotics taskforce was about to show him how wrong he was on that score. Suspected of being better armed than most third world nations, and probably not alone, law enforcement was taking no chances. Armor clad with assault weaponry in place, they waited. At the end of the hall, the door to another apartment swung open, causing the officers closest to it to turn, weapons drawn, preparing to deal with the unexpected threat. They found themselves looking at the sweatshirt and blue jeans of a startled middle aged woman who let her basket of laundry toppled to the floor as her hands flew up in shock. She wasn't supposed to be there. The floor was supposed to be cleared, but she hadn't answered the soft knock earlier and they missed her. Uttering a terrified yelp, she was unresisting as the cops shooed her back into her unit.

At a prearranged signal, a pair of officers came forward, cradling a battering ram between them. With a practiced swing, they first splintered then demolished the inoffensive door, reducing it to kindling. Flash-bangs preceded their entry. Rushing in with shouts of "LAPD! ON THE FLOOR! GET DOWN ON THE FLOOR! NOW!" They stormed into the darkened apartment, lethal armament covering every conceivable angle, every room. Unsure of how much resistance they could expect, they were ready for a small scale war. Nobody met them, however, until they threw open the door to a bedroom, completely void of light, and pushed in after tossing another flash-bang. The sole occupant, totally disoriented, was hauled out of bed, and roughly shoved to the floor, face meeting the carpeting hard enough to cause a bloody nose. There was no one else, nobody except the poor sap now lying on the floor with a cop's foot in his back, gun to the back of his head, handcuffed. The man kept trying to speak, to give his name, demanding to know what was going on, but his face was repeatedly planted back into the carpet piling by the pumped up cops. Once the place was cleared, one of the co-leaders of the assault team stepped thru the space once occupied by the now shattered door. Lt. Gary Walker was pleased no casualties to any of his people came of out the incident. Tao Salano boasted of killing more than one cop. Walker was satisfied that no more notches would go on the man's belt tonight. He signaled for the lights to be turned up and indicated the restraining officer should turn the suspect over on to his back. When that happened, Walker's sense of satisfaction melted away like ice on a hot burner. This man was so NOT Tao Salano, not by a long shot. Something was very wrong. Seriously, extremely, wrong. Somewhere along the line, there had been a royal screw-up. The Lieutenant knew this man, and he was no drug dealing, cop killing gang-banger. After all the LAPD's painstaking intelligence gathering and careful cultivation of their informants, meticulous planning of the raid and careful coordination of the two teams, instead of the fugitive killer and dealer they were after, Lt. Gary Walker found himself standing over the vastly confused, wrathful, bloodied countenance of FBI Special Agent Colby Granger.

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It was entertaining for Kerri to watch the customarily clearheaded and confident Robin Brooks tiptoeing around her and the subject of the previous night's dinner party. So entertaining in fact, that Kerri allowed it to go on for a while before letting her friend and colleague off the hook. Robin's embarrassment was obvious. Under the impression that her matchmaking efforts had backfired in breathtaking fashion, Brooks was so contrite towards Kerri that it was almost comical. Finally, though, Kerri arrived at the conclusion that Robin had squirmed long enough.

After depositing Colby in his apartment, Kerri returned to the courthouse with only minutes to spare before court was called back into session. Robin's trial was being conducted a few doors down, and by the looks of things, was also in the middle of a break. Catching the other woman's attention Kerri waved then darted over and pulled Robin into an alcove.

"Listen…" she began, but then heard the bailiff's wail coming from Part 18. "Let's talk later, Ok? It's important. I'll see you, huh?" Kerri called over her shoulder as she hurried back into court, leaving Robin somewhat bewildered.

Much later, after conclusion of the day's legal business, both women found themselves back their desks. Bearding the lioness in her den, Kerri barged in under a full head of steam. She started to speak, but Robin beat her to it.

"Look, I'm sorry. We should have, I should have, never tried to fix you and Granger up. Trust me, I've learned my lesson. From now on I swear, I will mind my own business." Brooks held her right hand in the air, as if she were being sworn in, a rueful smile on her face.

Walton couldn't help herself. She began to laugh, thoroughly confusing the other woman.

"Robin, I like you a lot. So, let me put you out of your misery, alright? True, last night didn't start out so well…" Kerri started, putting out both hands to forestall an interruption by her friend. "The night ended up a lot better. After I left the Eppes house, I drove around for awhile. A long while. Gave me a chance to think. I, well, I um, called up Granger's address in the database and I went to his place." The look on Robin's face almost started her laughing again. She plunged ahead. "Anyway, long story short, we…talked. Made peace you might say. I think there's even a good chance we may be seeing a lot more of each other in the future. So you can stop sweating it, ok? I'm not upset. Far from it in fact. Friends?" Walton held out her hand, which a relived Robin accepted. As she left Robin's office, she heard a soft "whew" issue as she closed the door.

About the same time Kerri was setting Robin straight, Lt. Walker was doing what he could to explain the actions of the Los Angeles Police Department to a still thoroughly pissed off Colby. An interested crowd had formed in the hallway as Granger's neighbors were allowed back into the building. One of them, a junior staffer at one of the city's more in demand law firms, overheard an outraged Colby growl, " the wrong address!? How in the…how does, how could you have the wrong address!? How incompetent can you be?! Look what you did to my place, look what you did to my _door!"_ Colby winced at the brightness of the room. Reasoning that he would be asleep in the dark anyway, the bandages were removed. He sharply regretted that now.

"Hey, Colby" the young attorney yelled, "If you need a lawyer, I'm in 4D!" At a baleful glare from Walker, other officers encouraged the entrepreneurial fellow and the rest of Granger's neighbors to return to their own apartments. Just then, completing an already stellar evening, Don Eppes and David Sinclair, flashing FBI credentials, pushed past the LAPD cordon, taking in the unusual activity.

"Perfect" thought Walker in disgust. "It just keeps getting better" the police lieutenant stood to greet the new arrivals.

"Eppes, Sinclair" he said, his gravel laced bark even more brusque than usual from embarrassment. Bad enough having to deal with the riled up Granger. Gary Walker was positive none of the FBI agents would allow him or the LAPD to live this one down. Ever.

It took some doing, and the concerted efforts of Don, David and Walker, but Colby's fury slowly dropped from hopping mad to just plain mad. With a doleful look at his ruined front door, he shook his head then turned to Gary.

"Ok, two things." Granger said in a dry tone. "First, LAPD is going to fix my door. The sooner the better, or my landlord is gonna go into orbit. And two, could you please find out for me just how you people ended up in _my_ apartment? Cause I'd _really_ like the answer to that question."

"Don't worry about that" Walker said. "I'll be decorating my desk with somebody's head behind this." After twenty plus years of service, Gary was fiercely protective of the department. This very public blunder, made worse by the presence of at least one television news crew, had him boiling mad, although he refused to show it in front of the three FBI agents or even his own officers. Why did it have to be Granger? Lieutenant Gary Walker generally held most federal agents in at least mild contempt. A few, however, he respected, and even liked. Eppes and his team were among those few. Promising to get someone started on a temporary fix on the door that night and a more permanent solution as soon as possible tomorrow, Gary was able to make his getaway. He caught Don Eppes's poorly concealed look of amusement as he left. Yep, hippos would be giving him hula lessons before they let him out from under this one.

Don and David, who'd dropped by to check on Colby at the end of a long, result-less day of trying to turn up some sort of lead on Vance Allard and his killer band of merry men, helped him set what he could of his place to rights. In addition to his garbaged door, the cops had wasted no time in searching for the stash of illegal drugs and weapons the apartment was supposed to have contained. Only Walker's timely arrival had prevented any further destruction. Drawers were pulled out and overturned, contents littering the floor, furniture knocked askew, cabinets emptied. In the middle of their clean-up Colby's phone rang. It was Kerri. After her trial recessed for the day, she explained, she'd found herself unexpectedly up to her neck in preparing for two others and would not make it back to his place that night. He could hear the regret in her voice.

"It's okay. Don't worry about it. There've been some unexpected happenings around here too. Yeah, yeah, me too. Get some rest, alright? You sound like you could use it. I will. 'Bye."

He turned around to see both his teammates staring at him expectantly, having overheard one half of a very interesting exchange.

"That was Kerri Walton" he told them, deriving a tremendous amount of enjoyment from the flabbergasted look on Don's face. He did have the good sense to wait until his boss was gone to laugh out loud.

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Colby's downy kisses trailed from the hollow of Kerri's throat, pausing in the soft, alluring territory of both breasts, before moving on to the velvet skin of her belly, smiling at the muted cries of desire he heard coming from her. The warm water of the shower cascaded in rivulets down their bodies as he moved lower. At the touch of his mouth, she gasped, insensible with pleasure. Wicked smile lighting his leaf green eyes, he straightened, drawing her legs up to clasp his waist. They moved in rhythm, so acutely attuned to one another that everything else faded away. The sensation of her was electric thru his fingertips. Nothing else existed. Nothing.

Five days after the LAPD raid, Colby was healing rapidly and feeling much better. Face and eyes regaining much more of their normal coloring, he was impatient to return to work. All his efforts to check on the progress of the team's investigation of Vance Allard were met with a "you're on medical leave, Colby, so be on medical leave. Now goodbye" from Don. David and Nikki were in on the conspiracy. Just as a frustrated, bored, Granger was about to start scaling the walls of his apartment like a low-rent version of some comic book hero, he was rescued by a phone call from Kerri. Informing him that she managed to wrangle an entire day from work, he was dressed and in front of her place almost before she could hang up.

The two of them ended up spending almost the entire day together, during the course of which they learned a great deal about one another. One of those things, to Colby's delighted surprise, was that she was a gourmet cook. The lunch she plied him with was worthy of a master chef at any of the city's more upscale eateries. He watched as she prepared the meal. It was evident how much she enjoyed the activity. Describing the melee at the Cole house elicited more of her full-bodied laughter, especially the info that one of the animals nailed him in a spot that made sitting down a measure of his intestinal fortitude for a few days.

Cleaning up the aftermath of the meal, Kerri was standing forearm deep in warm, soapy dishwater. The dishwasher in her kitchen stood idle. Like everyone else, she was trying to go more green. This way was better environmentally. She was humming softly to herself as Colby came in, carrying more dishes. His polite offer to help was turned down, so, he stood watching her. Then, pushing away from the wall, he came over to stand behind her. Moving aside the luxuriant hair from her neck, he leaned down, planting a kiss on the nape. She moved back into him, eyes closing. His strong hands reached up to undo the clasp of her bra and then around to caress her breasts, traveling down the front of her body. Reaching the button on her jeans, he opened it, then unzipped her, sliding his hand into the recess. The glass she was holding slipped into the water unbidden as she turned to meet him. Fingers unsteady with desire, she slowly undid the buttons of his shirt. Her lips and tongue visited each newly exposed inch of skin with a gossamer light embrace. The dessert they enjoyed that afternoon, culminating in one of the most memorable showers Colby had ever enjoyed in his lifetime, left them both quite satisfyingly exhausted.

RING! The sound jarred Colby awake. It took him a few seconds to register his surroundings. RING! RING! The device was insistent, requiring immediate attention. He nearly answered, then remembered he wasn't at home. Reaching over, he picked up the receiver and handed it to the still groggy Kerri.

"Hello?" she croaked after a couple of tries. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Hello?"

"Hi, Kerri", Robin Brooks voice greeted her. "I am so sorry about this. I know this is supposed to be your first day off in about three months, but something's come up in the Carlisle case. Boss says it's all hands on deck, including the off duty ones I'm afraid. I'm really sorry." Robin's apologetic tone oozed thru the phone line.

"No, no, it's, it's ok," Kerri said, still waking up. "I understand. Comes with the job, right? I was, uh, taking a nap" she further explained, swatting the grinning Colby lightly. "I'll be there as soon as I can." Handing him the phone, she swatted at him again. "Stop that" she chided, laughing silently. "And stop that too, I gotta go." Dodging out of his way as he reached for her, she dressed as he watched.

"You could develop car trouble, you know" he leered suggestively.

Kerri shook her head. "You're insatiable. And a bad influence. I have _got _to go, as much as I don't want to." He sat up in bed, crossing one leg over the other. The view he gave her was making 'car trouble' extremely attractive. Blushing, she finished dressing hurriedly, grabbed her briefcase and sped out of the apartment, his naughty laughter following her.

Climbing out of bed, still smiling, Colby began to get dressed himself.

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Pulling into the parking lot of his apartment complex, Granger was greeted by a quite interesting spectacle. Two of his neighbors were rolling around on the asphalt, engaged in a rather hilarious attempt at battery on one another's person.

Yelling and cursing in the process, both men were proving more adept at landing punches on the completely guiltless pavement than their opponent.

Getting out of his car and moving closer Colby was astonished to realize he not only knew both men but was friends, or at least friendly, with both. He often met up with Mike Turley at pickup hockey games and he'd found out Mo Stevens was a fellow surfer. Whatsmore, the two guys were also friendly with each other, at least Granger thought they were. In addition, he happened to know that they were both in the same fantasy football league. It was an activity Colby didn't have the time for, (and also secretly considered to be sort of ridiculous, preferring to both play and watch the real thing). They flailed away ineptly, accompanied by the jokingly yelled suggestions from some of the complex's other residents. Watching mortified, the wives of the two combatants stood in their front doors, helpless to intervene.

Colby heard sirens wailing in the distance. Someone had obviously called the police but it didn't sound like they would be arriving for several minutes. Slapping a hand to his forehead, Granger strode over to the field of battle, wading in to grab Mo by the scruff of his collar. Separating he and Mike, Colby shoved the men apart enough to step in between.

"What's going on here? Are you both out of your minds?! Knock it off! I mean it! Stop!" He gave Mike another shove backward as Turley attempt to renew hostilities. He fixed first one then the other with his best "Special Agent Granger, FBI" glare, daring either to move.

Taking a deep breath he enquired again. "Just exactly what the heck is going on here? I thought you two guys were friends. What happened?"

Both battlers suddenly found the ground fascinating.

"Well?" Colby demanded. "Who wants to go first, huh? Nobody? You're brawling like a couple of teenagers. Somebody want to tell me why?"

Clenching his jaw, Mo rose up on tiptoe, pointing an angry finger Mike's way.

"I keep telling him, over and over, stay out of my space. Those two spaces are ours! He knows that, but he just keeps parking that piece of junk rusty mustang in it anyway!" Breath coming in gasps, his chest was heaving.

Colby's mouth hung open. " Wait, wait, this is about a parking space!? I don't believe it! You two are trying to bash each others brains out over a parking space!? Unreal" Granger shook his head, incredulously.

"That's not your space!" Mo screamed at Turley, lunging into the space between them. "You only get two! You always take one of the spaces that belongs to me and you know it! You and that shrew wife of yours, your three cars! Always trying to be better than everybody else! Look at what we got! Look everybody, see what we can afford? Bet you wish you had this, ha ha!" Mo was agitated. Colby kept himself interspersed between them, wondering what was taking the cops so long.

Mike Turley, eyes narrowed, clinched his jaw. "You want the spot? Huh? You really want it! Alright, fine! I'll give it to ya!" With that, he stormed over to one of his family's three automobiles, a lumbering SUV, slamming the door behind him. The engine roared to life as he prepared to put the car into gear. Before he could move it however, Stevens had one last parting comment.

"And another thing, you jerk! You cheat at fantasy football! Don't think I haven't noticed!" He thundered at Turley.

This final dig put the already incensed Mike over the top! "Why you…" he was unable to say anything more, too choked up with anger to think straight. He scowled bug eyed at Stevens. The sudden realization that he had a two ton weapon at his disposal was far too great a temptation to resist. He shifted into drive, furious stare fixed on Mo Stevens, intent on answering the last insult with something final.

Granger saw the speeding truck flying at Mo Stevens, and incidentally at him also, and his well-honed survival instincts kicked in. Dragging Mo along with him, he dived desperately for the only shelter at hand, the enormous steel garbage dumpster three feet away. Shoving Mo ahead of him, they both reached the dubious safety of the trash receptacle with a second to spare. Having lost control of both his temper and his vehicle, Mike crashed into the empty dumpster at an impressive speed. As the SUV's air bags explosively deployed, the dumpster that protected Granger and Stevens shifted. Standing closest to it, the container hit Colby hard enough to knock him off his feet. He slid several feet, and lay still, stunned. Before anything else could transpire, the police finally arrived. They took in the scene while being besieged by spouses, neighbors and the shaking Mo Stevens, who along with Mike, was subsequently arrested.

For his trouble in playing referee, Colby ended up with a torn shirt, bruises and road rash. Sitting in the back of yet another ambulance, having his injuries treated, Granger shook his head again. As soon as the EMS tech was done, Granger walked across the lot to retrieve his phone, knocked free in the ruckus. He flipped it open and hit the #2.

"Eppes" Don's voice barked. His initial idea of calling in Charlie to help find Allard and his gang was starting to look better every day. He felt like grinding his teeth in aggravation. The last voice he expected to hear was Colby's.

Explaining about the 'thriller-that-was-not-in-the-parking-lot' Colby continued, "Don, I know what you said about the doctor's clearance and all…" he said wistfully, and just at that precise moment was interrupted by a pigeon that normally used the dumpster as its bathroom. He surveyed his ripped and ruined shirt and sighed "….but can I come back to work now? Please?"


End file.
